


For Argument's Sake

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [12]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Cave smut, F/M, First Time, Smut, Smut and Fluff, kind of, s1 vibes, smut in a cave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy and Clarke enjoy a good disagreement or two.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 12
Kudos: 209





	For Argument's Sake

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a Smutty Saturday with S1 vibes, set as if the Ark never came down and the Mountain Men never appeared. This was written for the prompt "Clarke loses her virginity to Bellamy and he takes care of her" but... well. You'll see. Fluff and smut ahead. Thanks to Stormkpr, obviously. Happy reading!

Clarke is minding her own business. She's making her bed – by which she means she's tucking her furs in round the edges, because a little order makes her feel more like she's holding it together. And then she might do a spot of sketching until the rest of the camp wakes up, or she might -

Bellamy stomps into her tent, not even bothering to ask permission to enter.

"What are you doing here?" She asks, more exasperated than genuinely annoyed. She's got used to his ways by now.

"Arguing with you." He says, as if that's obvious.

"We're not having an _argument_." She tells him smartly. "I just want to know what you need me to do."

"We're having an argument now." He points out.

"This doesn't count."

"I think it does. I think we're arguing about whether this is an argument." He shuffles further into her tent, takes a seat on the bed of furs she was trying to make. So much for order. Sometimes she thinks Bellamy takes rather too much pride in being the king of chaos.

She tries a different tactic. "Why are we having an argument? Is there something I can actually help you with?"

He pauses a little too long. And then he shrugs, and speaks in a voice too careful to be the whole truth. "I always enjoy arguing with you, Princess."

Right. Yes. Things like this happen sometimes, since they went on that adventure to the supplies depot last month. Every once in a while, Bellamy will let her see him in a moment of weakness, will admit that he's not doing so well.

He's here because he desperately needs her to lift his mood. She'll do her best. That's what they do for each other – they keep each other going, so that the camp can continue to function.

"You can't stay and argue with me all morning. I need to go fetch some more seaweed." She offers, deliberately casual. She hopes he picks up on her implicit invitation. She doesn't need seaweed very urgently at all, so she'll be upset if he turns down her offer of this trip she has created for his benefit.

"I'll come with you and argue on the way. You shouldn't be out there on your own." That's his overprotective side peeking through, she notes with a secret smile at her lap.

"Go on then. You want to tell Miller and Raven we'll be out for the day? I'll see you at the gate in a minute."

"Good plan. Let's get going before too many of the kids are awake and asking questions." He says on a sigh.

"You mean you don't want to listen to a bunch of fifteen year old girls ask why we don't have enough hairbrushes? Huh."

He laughs, some of that tension he brought in here with him breaking. His shoulders relax a little, and he allows himself a true smile. "Thanks, Princess. Don't be long."

With that he lets himself out of her tent again, and she is left shaking her head at his retreating back.

…...

The start of their expedition goes well. They bicker lightly about the closest source of the seaweed, and then the fastest way to get there, and then Bellamy surprises her by insisting they take the _safer_ route, instead of the quickest.

Wow. Maybe he's experiencing growth, she wonders.

She gathers her courage, decides to try teasing him about it. He can either take it as a joke or use it as an excuse to talk about what's actually bothering him.

"What happened to you? Why so sensible?" She asks lightly. "Since when is _safety first_ your motto?"

He frowns, jaw tight. He looks away into the trees. She nudges him lightly with an elbow as they walk, shows him she's right here for him if he wants to have a go at talking.

He heaves in a breath. "I guess it's just really hitting me, these last few days. This is it, isn't it? No one's coming. It's been over a month since we heard from the Ark. We're doing this _forever_. You and me are leading a bunch of kids for the rest of our lives."

"It looks that way." She concedes. She's been thinking the same thing herself.

"I didn't want them to come down at first. I'd have given anything to stop it. But now I look back at that and think how _stupid_ I was. We've got some food and furs, and four cabins between us. We might not even survive this winter, never mind live out our lives."

"I think we'll be OK. Lincoln's confident he can help us make that deal with the grounders. And we can fit all the youngest kids in the cabins. The rest of us can crowd in the dropship if it snows."

He looks across at her, sharp. "Clarke. I know you've got it all worked out. I know you've planned it to within an inch of your life. But I don't want you to tell me it's fixed, today." He swallows, looks away. "I want you to tell me it's OK that I'm terrified anyway."

"It's _definitely_ OK." She agrees right away. "Why do you think I plan everything, Bellamy? That's my way of dealing with the fear. Breaking it down into smaller pieces and feeling like I've got it worked out as best I can."

"I never realised that. You always seem like you've got everything under control." He says cautiously.

"So do you." She points out, because it's true. She's the only person he ever seems to let his guard down around.

He snorts, shakes his head. And then they keep walking in companionable silence.

…...

It starts raining an hour into their journey.

It keeps raining two hours more.

It's the third hour when it thickens to a torrential downpour, and Bellamy tries to call a halt.

"Clarke. This is getting bad. We should find a cave or something, hide out till it passes."

"We're fine. It's only rain."

Right on cue, it starts to look rather more like sleet. Bellamy catches a few wet flakes in his palm and frowns deeply.

"We need to take shelter, Clarke. We can't get sick. The kids need us."

She considers that for a moment. He's right, of course, and it's an interesting development to see him taking his responsibilities more seriously. But she doesn't think they're about to get sick just from a bit of a soaking. They're both fit and healthy, if a little overworked.

"Clarke." That's it. Just her name.

"What?" She turns to look at him through the sheeting rain. Or heavy sleet. Or whatever disgustingly grim weather it is that the Earth has decided to throw at them.

He looks scared, she thinks. Scared of a little wet weather?

"I don't want _you_ to get sick. Come on. I think there's a cave up here."

She follows him, mute and half-stunned by his concern. He doesn't want her to get sick? He cares that much about her health?

It's logical that he would, of course. She's their only doctor, and they've grown used to sharing responsibility for the kids rather than bearing the load alone. So it's not necessarily anything personal that he doesn't want her to get sick.

In this moment, though, it _feels_ personal.

Sure enough, there is a cave up the rocky path he has chosen. They shelter inside, and Clarke tears off her soaked jacket and boots. She watches Bellamy do the same, and wonders whether she ought to remove a few more clothes, too. Her trousers and socks are drenched, and her shirt is pretty damp. But she figures that stripping shamelessly in front of Bellamy would not be entirely socially acceptable.

Does it matter what's socially acceptable, on the ground?

No. But she's not going to strip. She's going to sit here shivering in her wet clothes, pretending she can't see Bellamy staring at the way her damp shirt clings to the curves of her breasts. She wonders why he's staring – is that judgement or admiration?

"Are you OK?" He asks her, bringing his eyes back to her actual face.

"Yeah." She lies brightly. "You?"

"Yeah. Don't think we have anything dry to light a fire with." He offers, apologetic.

She shrugs. They'll be fine. They've faced worse than wet weather.

"Who was the seaweed for?" He asks next.

"What?"

"The seaweed we're collecting. Who needs it? Will they be OK till this passes? I'm sorry – I should have asked sooner who's sick. I guess I just trusted you had it under control." He says, smiling slightly.

Ah. She should have guessed this moment was coming.

"It's not _for_ anyone." She admits, tone level. "I guess my supply is a little low. But mostly I thought it was a useful errand that would get you out of camp. You seemed like you needed a break."

There's a beat of silence. Clarke looks up, finds that Bellamy is staring again – but this time at her face, not her breasts.

And then all of a sudden he's kissing her, lips damps and a little chilly, frozen fingers reaching up to cup her face.

She flinches. Of course she does. He's _cold_ , damn it. Attractive and all, but seriously cold.

He stiffens, pulls away. He's got his eyes fixed on the floor as the words tumble out of him.

"Sorry. Don't know what came over me. I guess it's just – it's been a while." He mutters.

She snorts. Partly because that's her honest reaction, but partly because he looks mortified and she wants to help him out here, and so bickering with him seems like the natural next step.

" _A while_? Please – I saw Bree walk into your tent last week."

"I sent her away again." He says, eyes still fixed on the floor. "I guess I've not been... using sex so much, since I realised we really are leaders now. And since I realised that talking to you works better."

"Works?" She asks carefully.

"Yeah. You know, to take my mind off things. Make me feel less alone."

She hesitates, bites her lip a little. The way she sees it, this is an interesting situation. Bellamy just impulsively kissed her, and happens to think that talking to her makes him feel less alone. And really, although it was a bit chilly, it wasn't a _bad_ kiss, as such. And he is a very attractive guy.

When she thinks about it like that, kissing him back seems like the only logical choice.

She bends forwards, tilts his face carefully with the back of her hand. That's less cold than the tips of her fingers, she's hoping. And then slowly, tentatively, giving him plenty of time to object, she leans in and presses her lips to his.

He doesn't object. Quite the opposite – he stays put, and kisses her gently for a long couple of minutes.

It's pleasant. It's not going to set the world alight. But it's a perfectly enjoyable way of passing the time until the weather calms down.

The problem is, Clarke wants more.

She pulls away from the kiss and chooses her words carefully.

"I'd touch you but I know my hands must be cold." She says conversationally. "That's why I flinched to start with."

He looks a bit stunned. "Oh. Just because it was cold?"

She nods.

"Not because – because it freaked you out, or whatever?"

She shakes her head. She could swear they're usually better conversationalists than this, normally skilled in the art of bickering with each other. But right now they both seem to be struggling to string words together coherently.

"Shall we see if we've warmed up now?" He asks, with absolutely no attempt at subtlety. She supposes she shouldn't expect subtlety from a hook-up in a damp cave.

By way of answer, she reaches out a hand for his. And yes, his fingers aren't particularly warm, but they're not as icy as they were a few minutes ago.

"I think we're good." She says lightly.

He doesn't wait for her to ask twice. He grins a slightly wolfish grin, reaches out for her with both hands. He starts by holding her shoulders, cradling her close to him as they kiss a bit longer.

It's an odd experience, really, Clarke thinks. She expected Bellamy to be a bit more... _purposeful_ than this when it came to making out. She expected him to be one for rushing roughly onward at full speed towards sex, not sitting around and kissing softly.

She's actually a little disappointed.

She tries to give him a hint. She slides a hand boldly up his shirt, starts stroking the firm muscles of his back. He sighs slightly into her mouth, and she takes advantage of that to deepen the kiss, curling her other hand into his hair.

"You won't break me." She tells him firmly.

He laughs against her lips. "Still trying to boss me around, Princess?"

Things start to move a little more swiftly, then. He takes her hint, shifts his hands to her waist, skims the bare skin at her hips with his thumbs. And then he takes it further, tugs her shirt off briskly over her head, starts pressing kisses to the top of her breasts.

This is more like it.

She responds in kind, helping him out of his wet shirt. She's seen his bare torso a time or two around camp, but this is a very different experience close up. There's something incredibly exciting about being able to touch his chest, explore the firm muscles there with her lips and tongue and fingertips.

He seems to feel much the same way about her breasts. He's palming them through her bra, easing the worn cups slowly out of the way.

She takes pity on him. She lets go of him for a moment to reach behind her and simply unclip the damn bra.

He grins at her. "Thanks."

She rolls her eyes. "You're welcome. Now get back to it."

He grins a little broader at that command, but does as she requests, ducking his head and tugging slightly at one nipple with his lips. It's pretty incredible, this, Clarke decides. They seem to have left behind that oddly stiff and tentative atmosphere they started with, and simply decided to get on with having a good time.

She wonders why they didn't try this weeks ago.

Before long Bellamy is urging her back onto the floor of the cave, tugging her trousers and underwear and socks off in one hasty mess, having a fight with his own clothes as he follows suit. She sort of wants to laugh, but in no way does it ruin the moment. It's very _them_ , she thinks, and is a good fit for the combination of care and confrontation and clumsiness they've honed in recent weeks. All in all, this is going really well.

Or at least, it's going really well until he starts touching her _down there_.

It dawns on her all of a sudden what's happening here. They're half way to having sex. He's got a cock – a decent sized one – hard and jutting into her thigh. And she managed to ignore that, more or less, up until now. She was doing quite well at relaxing and enjoying the moment. But now he's trying to ease a thick finger into her and she's suddenly very aware of what is to come.

More than anything, she's on edge about her lack of experience in this area. She literally has no idea what will happen if he tries to fit his cock inside of her – she's never done that before. And she's had a handful of orgasms in her life, mostly oral or her own fingers. So even Bellamy's hand suddenly seems like _a lot_.

She freezes. She squeals a little, backs away from his hand. She considers herself a pretty confident woman, but she can't help feeling that she's about to make a fool of herself, here.

Bellamy realises something is wrong. He's annoyingly perceptive, for an argumentative ass.

"Clarke? What is it?"

She wonders about lying. But what would she say? What fake reason for her sudden tension can she possibly produce?

"Just a little nervous. I'm not very experienced." She says, as cheerfully as she can manage.

That is to say, not very cheerfully at all. Her voice sounds terrified even to her own ears.

"That's OK. Not a problem. Are you a virgin?" He straight up asks her.

She bristles. "Virginity doesn't exist." She informs him smartly.

It's a stupid, outdated concept that should have been left behind when the world burned last century. She's had sex. There's no way that night of practising oral with her first serious girlfriend didn't count as sex. Just because her vagina has yet to meet a penis it likes is no reason to go throwing around stupid terminology. And really, she's getting quite annoyed now. She'd forgotten how much Bellamy pissed her off, amidst all this making out in a cave. But if he's going to lie there and -

"OK. Sure. You're right – it's a lazy way of asking it. I should have asked you instead what you have and haven't tried?"

She gapes at him, stunned. Was that Bellamy, letting her win an argument? No, not just _letting_ her win an argument out of pity or sympathy – but actually admitting she was in the right?

She's so proud of him that she cracks on with giving him a straight answer. "Oral, giving and receiving, guys and girls. Hands – only my own, and one girlfriend who had smaller fingers than you." She laughs nervously. "And no – no cocks. But I want to try." She concludes, determined.

She has a feeling this isn't how most of Bellamy's hookups go. She has a sneaking suspicion that most girls do not cause trouble and ask him to help them improve their range of sexual experiences. Probably most of them just get him off and then go on their way. And yet he still seems to be here, still stroking a finger along the bare skin of her side, still grinning down at her as if there's no place he'd rather be.

No. That's silly. They're just stuck in a cave, and this is a pleasant way to pass the time.

He presses a lingering kiss to her lips.

"We can try." He agrees lightly, as if it's as easy as that. "Let's start with something you're more comfortable with?"

She nods. That does sound like a good plan. He smirks at her slightly, and then with one last kiss he's gone, scooting down to nestle his head between her legs.

"This OK?" He asks as he goes.

"Yeah." She agrees, throat thick with anticipation.

She likes oral. She already knew that. But this is – well, it's even better than she's had before. She's not sure whether it's any particular skill of Bellamy's, or whether it's the whole experience – the long build up, the honest chat, the way he keeps caressing her breasts with a hand as he works.

It's not long before she finds herself completely relaxed, more than recovered from her earlier nerves. She can feel her arousal building, can feel an orgasm creeping up on her quickly. She's almost disappointed about that. She doesn't want this to be over so soon. She wants it to last, and she's not sure she has a second one in her, and she's -

"You're OK, Clarke." Bellamy peers up to speak to her, eyes warm in the low light of the cave. She thinks she can see his lips wet and shining from going down on her, but she tries not to look too hard. That way lies madness, she's pretty sure.

"That's good." She offers, inadequate but honest.

"You're doing really well." He says warmly, stroking a hand over her stomach. "I'm thinking I could try using my hand soon, if you're doing OK? I'll try adding a finger or two while I'm down here and we'll see how we get on."

That's it. That's the moment she goes and falls for him, realises she's surpassed feeling vaguely attracted to her exasperating friend and ended up with something of a crush on him. There's the kindness and tenderness with which he's helping her out, here, and the frankly pretty picture he makes between her legs. And the matter of fact way he's going about all this, as if helping a colleague learn how to take a cock is a perfectly normal way to spend a rainy morning.

More than anything, it's the way he's still stroking that tender hand over her stomach as he talks.

"Yeah, let's try that." She swallows. "Thanks, Bellamy. This is great and I – thanks for taking care of me." She concludes, feeling rather awkward. Is there supposed to be this much talking in sex?

"Any time. I'm enjoying it." He says, and she believes it's the truth.

He gets back to work then, coaxing her into calmness, teasing out her arousal until she's frankly curious to see how it would feel to be full of him. He catches the moment, slips a finger inside, then another, and works her closer to the edge.

"That's really good." She says, breathless. "I think – we could try now, if you want."

He doesn't make her explain herself further. He catches onto her meaning, lifts his mouth away even as he leaves his hand in place.

"You want to? We don't have to do it all at once. We can stick with this for now and try my cock another day if this is a lot."

Another day? _Another day_? Are they going to hook up on _other days_ , too?

Wow.

Maybe that's what gives her the confidence to go for it. That and the fact she can feel her body growing ever more used to his fingers while they lie here and chat.

"I want to try it." She insists, firm.

He nods, slips his fingers out of her. He shuffles back up to meet her lips with his, kisses her deeply for a few seconds. It's even hotter than it was before, somehow, the taste of her slick on his lips getting her even more worked up.

And then he starts easing carefully inside of her. She's pleased about that, pleased that he didn't hang around and warn her what was coming once she'd asked him for it. She thinks that would just have given her time to overthink this whole thing and tense up all over again.

Huh. She supposes he must have thought of that, reached the same conclusion. It's almost like they've got to know each other pretty well, in the last couple of months.

"You doing alright?" He asks against her lips.

"Great. Is that – is there more?" She wonders.

He chuckles a little. "That's about half way. You good? Want me to keep going?"

She nods. She does want him to keep going. It's not the length that is the issue anyway, she thinks. It's more the stretch around her entrance that's a little uncomfortable.

He kisses her deeply as he keeps moving, somehow has the hands and coordination and concentration to toy with one breast, too. And then he's fully inside of her, and it feels better. The stretch is different, now, and he's hitting a bundle of nerves deep within that make it a hell of a lot easier to enjoy herself and relax.

"That's really good." She huffs out, half surprising herself.

He grunts. "Yeah. Yeah, so good."

Huh. It seems like she's not the only one enjoying this. She never thought she'd have the power to make Bellamy Blake lose his cool, and it's kind of exciting.

She rocks her hips experimentally, swallows his responding gasp. It seems he likes that. She wiggles her hips some more, until he's fitting her just right, hitting the perfect spot.

And then she grasps at his butt with her hands and tells him in no uncertain terms to get a move on.

He responds willingly, eagerly. He rocks against her, slow at first, then faster, longer, deeper. She tries to remember to breathe, but it's far from easy. He seems determined to make her expire on the spot.

"You still OK?" He pants out, breathless.

"I'm good. Keep going."

He does. He does more than that – he takes her higher, kisses her deeper, drives her to distraction with that hand on her breast. She can feel her arousal coiling tighter, can feel herself tensing around him and holding him tight. But she's too busy enjoying herself to be self-conscious of acting so thoroughly unhinged over him.

"Clarke. I'm gonna -"

She kisses his words away. She knows what he's trying to say, because she's feeling it, too. She holds him close, bucks her hips up to meet his a handful more times.

And then she's there, lips fused to his as he sighs into her mouth, and she sighs into his in turn.

They lie there for a moment. He's not moving, and she thinks she knows what that means. But she doesn't like to presume – maybe he's just being kind because she's new to this and all.

"You done?" She asks, brisk, because brisk is what she does best – at least when she's in unknown territory, it is.

He chuckles slightly, face buried in her neck, and it tickles. "Yeah. I don't need to ask you. That – that felt like a big one."

"Yeah. It was." Should she be embarrassed about that? She's not sure what the protocol is.

Bellamy goes to roll off her, then. She's not sure what gives her the courage to hold onto him as he moves, but something must. She ends up cuddling into his side, naked and rather less cold than she was half an hour ago.

He presses a kiss to her forehead. "You OK? You stopped arguing with me for a while there." He teases.

She laughs. "Yeah. Sorry. Just – that was good."

"I might have to remember that trick for next time I'm sick of our bickering." He suggests lightly.

She hesitates a moment. She thinks she knows what that was – it sounded an awful lot like a suggestion they might try this again some time. And she'd really rather like that, because as she realised not so long ago, she does have something of a crush on this exasperating colleague of hers.

"Does that mean if I want sex I should just start an argument?" She asks, tone carefully casual.

"Or you could just tell me you want it."

"But you just said -"

"Are you _arguing_ with me, Princess? Trying to tell me something?"

She snorts. He's infuriating. Hot, and caring, and truly supportive. But also infuriating.

She considers her options. It's usually Bellamy who lets his emotional walls down, out of the two of them. He's more inclined to let his heart lead the way. But she thinks maybe that makes it her turn to act on her feelings, today.

"You know you said you were having less sex these days? And you'd decided talking to me was better? How about we try talking _and_ having sex every so often? I think we could be good together." She concludes, proud of herself for saying what needs to be said.

"We _are_ good together." He tells her robustly. "But we could keep being good together and start sleeping together too. I'd like that."

"Great. Me too."

"You know what, Clarke – that sounds a bit like a relationship." He points out, tone teasing, as if he's only just noticed as much.

"Yeah. It does, doesn't it?"

"Just as long as we're agreed. You know how much I hate disagreeing with you." He jokes, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She snorts, kisses his warm chest a couple of times. She figures that's allowed, now that they're on the same page.

"You want to take a nap while this weather lasts?" He asks her softly. "I hear some ass stormed into your tent early this morning to start a fight with you."

"It's OK. I quite like him. But a nap does sound tempting." She concedes, curling ever more closely into his side.

Outside, it goes on raining. But Clarke's last thought as she drifts into sleep is that wet weather might just be her new favourite thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
